


Circle the Drain

by FlyAway_33



Series: Everybody Hurts Sometimes [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Drunkenness, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyAway_33/pseuds/FlyAway_33
Summary: Freddie and Roger participate in Thirsty Thursday and their room mate Brian must pick up the pieces.
Relationships: Brian May & Freddie Mercury, Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Brian May & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor
Series: Everybody Hurts Sometimes [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691062
Comments: 31
Kudos: 46





	1. Brian.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters and events of this story are completely fictionalized. This story is strictly for fandom enjoyment and is not meant to cause offense or harm to any recognizable names.
> 
> OKAY so this was really just going to be a one-shot but while looking for a title I got inspired. So the door is open to make this a longer story. I'm experimenting writing from other characters' point of view and this one is Brian!

“Rog, hold still!”

_Crash_

_Thud_

Those were the first things Brian heard as he jolted back into consciousness. His first thought was that someone was breaking into the flat, but quickly his mind caught up to what he’d been hearing and he remembered that his flatmates had been out with friends. The tell-tale shenanigans he could hear as they crashed about meant they’d finally made their way home after an undoubtably indulgent night of drinking. It was ridiculous, really. Roger and Freddie both had classes to attend in the morning, and Brian had warned them that they would most certainly get themselves too pissed to get up on time for their lectures. Based on the ruckus, Brian was on the path to being one hundred percent right.

“ _Thirsty Thursday”_ Roger had called their outing, jubilantly. He’d pestered Brian to go with them all day, promising that if he came they’d only have a few drinks and come home at a decent time. Brian had almost caved, too; Roger could be a persuasive little bugger, especially with the fact that Brian loved to have a good time with his best mates just as much as the next guy, but on a Thursday night he just couldn’t justify it. Roger had only given up when it was time for Freddie and him to leave and meet some friends from uni at a nearby pub.

The rushing sound of running water followed by a wet-sounding slap noise gave Brian an uneasy feeling and he sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes and straining his ears to hear any words exchanged between the drunkards who had made their way to the hall bathroom. Whatever Freddie was saying was drowned out by loud, slightly off tune, and very slurred singing. He could hear a sharp whisper from Freddie cutting off the singing but couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It was followed by a slurred “Oh FUCk sleeping!” from Roger. There was another slapping sound, a few clunks that had to be falling shampoo bottles, and a string of curses from Freddie.

Brian groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching as he stood and pulled a bathrobe on over the tshirt and briefs he’d been wearing to bed. Off to the rescue of the scrawny little terrors he called flatmates and bandmates once again. Sigh. He shuffled sleepily toward the door, noting in annoyance that it was past 2 am and made his way into the hallway. He shoved the bathroom door open and heard a yelp as it collided with something hard.

“Bloody hell, Bri! Watch it!” Freddie hissed.

Brian opened the door again, slower this time and peered in. He was met with the sight of a very wet Freddie knelt beside the tub which held a very naked Roger.

“What the…”

“Brimi!” Roger crowed, reaching a floppy arm toward the confused intruder. “Brimi ’m so glad you’re here!” the blond’s eyelids were half shut and his eyes were unfocused. He clearly couldn’t hold any part of himself up on his own as he was laying in the tub, limps in disarray, and with Freddie’s arm supporting his neck in effort to keep him from sliding under the rising water. The arm he’d reached for Brian flopped unceremoniously against Freddie’s shoulder, effectively explaining how so much water had gotten out of the tub and onto Freddie’s clothes.

“Freddie what on Earth is going on? He’s absolutely trashed, why is he in the bath?” Brian stepped cautiously into the tiny room and winced when his foot collided with a damp pile of clothes. He didn’t even want to know why they were wet.

Freddie glanced up at Brian and the latter internally cursed when he noticed the far away look in the former’s eyes. He was nearly as plastered as Roger. “He went and fell in a bloody ditch, Bri, what else did you want me to do about it, then?”

“He could fucking drown, Fred.” Brian nudged his way beside the tub and surveyed the damage, finding that Roger did indeed smell like street water, piss, and alcohol. He also had a split lip and what appeared to be a bit of vomit at the corner of his mouth. “Christ, Rog, How much did you have to drink?”

“All o’ it!” Slurred the blond, flopping over onto his side as Freddie cried out from the water splashed on him in the process.

“Fred?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow as he knelt beside him.

“We both had a bit much, I’m afraid.” Freddie sighed, gazing at the inebriated blond who had seemingly settled, eyes now closed and lips parted slightly. “But this one here was trying to out drink everyone.”

“Shit, move over, I got him.” Brian went to push the singer out of the way so he could take over.

“No! No, dear, I am perfectly capable of taking care of him.” Freddie protested. “Here, I’ll prove it!” He grabbed a plastic cup they kept on the side of the tub for cleaning, scooped up water from the bath, and unceremoniously dumped it on the drummer’s face. Roger gasped in surprise and spluttered as he began to thrash, splashing water everywhere.

“Fuck, Freddie!” Brian hissed, succeeding in shoving him away from the side of the tub and taking his place beside Roger. It took a moment for Roger to settle and once the initial panic was over, Brian rolled his eyes and glanced back at Freddie: “I believe that should have been poured over his hair, not dumped in his face, Fred” he hummed as he got Roger to lay still and held his head above the water like Freddie had been doing. He tried to prop him up but the drummer was slipping and sliding back into the water like a wet noodle and whining nearly incoherently that the room was spinning. “Rog, shut the fuck up, you’re fine. Fred, go fetch a washrag and a glass of water for him, yeah?”

Freddie mumbled grumpily and staggered off to find what he’d been sent for while Brian turned back to Roger, grabbing the plastic cup and filling it with water once more. He poured the water over the drummer’s hair before grabbing one of the shampoo bottles that bobbed around in the tub.

“What the hell did you get into tonight?” Brian sighed as he squirted shampoo directly onto the messy blond head. Roger didn’t respond with anything other than a grunt as he let his eyes flutter closed once more. “No, Rog, you gotta work with me here. Stay awake, mate.”

It was evident that he was becoming more and more affected by the minute as the alcohol seeped into his bloodstream. “Mhmn.” The drummer whined in protest, writhing uncomfortably. He then uttered a small burp and his body spasmed, alerting Brian to what was about to happen.

“Shit—“ Brian pulled Roger up and partially over the edge of the tub so that he could be sick into the waste basket. He didn’t even bother pulling his hair up as he hadn’t even had the chance to scrub it clean to begin with.

Freddie chose that moment to return and immediately turned green at the sight. “Oh dear…” he mumbled from the doorway, dropping to his knees and then onto his ass dramatically.

“Freddie, just give me the damn water.” Brian spat, thoroughly annoyed now, cradling Roger’s head in one hand and reaching for the glass with the other. He took the cup from the singer and coaxed Roger to lift his head just enough to take a sip.

The drummer groaned and slid back into the bath like some cold-blooded sea creature. “Mmm, warm.” He slurred as he sunk in, pulling his limbs in close to his body, his eyes still closed.

“You have some explaining to do.” Brian shot a pointed glare at Freddie, who was still staring worriedly at Roger. He started working on the blond’s hair and winced, finding a conglomeration of grass, mud, and vomit in the normally flawless tresses. “Please explain how and why you two are this trashed on a Thursday night? How the fuck did he end up like this? Looks like he rolled down a hill in the bloody rain.”

“Well…”

“You’re joking. You said he’d fallen in a ditch!”

“ _Well_ …”

“Freddie!”

“Okay! Okay we went to the park after last call, you know the part for children—“

“The playground?!”

“Ah ha yes, that’s what it’s called then, and it was raining of course, what else do you expect from London, I mean—“

“Freddie, get to the point!” Brian’s patience was wearing very thin at this small hour of nearly 3 am, and while his frustration with Freddie grew, his worry for Roger did as well. The blond was quickly crossing the line between incoherent and unresponsive as his body grew more and more limp with each passing second.

“We played on the swings and Roger sort of, well, he jumped, and er, obviously couldn’t keep his balance when he landed. That’s where the mud and grass and bloody lip come from, of course.” The singer was nervouslyrubbing his hands as he explained, his slightly unfocused gaze flitting between Brian and Roger.

“And the ditch story came from…?”

“Well he did that too… I lost my hold on him coming home. We’d almost made it, too.”

“Of course you did— Jesus, Freddie!” Brian exclaimed, exasperated, “He could’ve been seriously hurt, either of you could have! Do you know if he hit his head?”

“I don’t think so, no. At least not harder than any normal fall.”

“Jesus, Fred.” Brian repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose and returning his full attention back to the inebriated drummer. He shifted his focus to the task of getting him clean and out of the water. Brian used the cup to rinse the shampoo and debris out Rogers hair and made quick work of cleaning his face with the washrag. He figured since the rest of Roger’s body was submerged in water that would be good enough for now.

“He’ll be upset you didn’t condition.” Freddie piped up, unmoving from his place in the doorway.

Brian didn’t even grace him with a verbal response, choosing instead to shoot him another pointed glare. He pulled the drain on the bath and looked around for a towel, finding one hanging on the rack. Who knew if it was clean or who may have used it but at this point Brian didn’t care: it was clean enough to do the job and they’d shared worse.

“Here Fred, help me get him up.” Brian handed the towel to the singer who scrambled gracelessly to his feet and to Brian’s aid. “Roggie, come on now, time to get up.” Brian gently patted the drummer’s face and only received a slow, lazy peek in response before the blue irises were hidden from view once more. Brian used all his strength to pull Roger into sitting up, then, together, he and Freddie each grabbed an arm and hoisted the drummer to his feet.

They quickly found that he wasn’t bearing any of his own weight and they both nearly collapsed trying to extract him from the tub. They sat him on the toilet lid for a moment so that Freddie could towel him off, then Brian looped the drummer’s arm around his shoulders and motioned for Freddie to do the same with the other arm. “I can’t do it meself, Fred. He might not be very heavy but he’s practically a dead weight right now.”

“You’re going to have to keep your knees bent then, dear, neither of us are near your height.” Freddie copied Brian’s actions on Roger’s other side and together they shuffled out of the tiny bathroom that certainly wasn’t built for three grown men.

By some grace of God they were able to get Roger to the bedroom he shared with Freddie without the trio collapsing, and deposited him more or less safely onto his bed. Brian rolled him onto his side and grabbed one of the drummer’s pillows to support him. He was wholly unconscious now, and that worried both of the others, Freddie seemingly sobering up quickly in order to help his friend.

“I don’t know what happened, Bri, honest. I guess we just lost track of ourselves.” Freddie hummed meekly as he crouched under the drummer’s bed to dig through his bin of extra blankets. Though he often teased Roger over how many blankets and pillows he kept, he was suddenly grateful that there were extras, as there hadn’t been time or energy to turn down the covers before dumping Roger’s limp, naked form onto the bed.

“He’s only 19, Freddie.” Brian sighed as he helped the singer stretch a fuzzy throw blanket over the drummer. “You should’ve kept better tabs on him. I mean think about it: A year ago he was still living with his mum in Cornwall. He probably doesn’t know how to handle himself in a big city like this, in actual city pubs.”

“Oh, bullshit. Rog is an adult. He is the most confident and sure person I’ve ever met, and he was just having too good a time, is all. You make things too deep.”

“Maybe I do, but this—“ Brian gestured to the passed out blond, “this is not good, Fred. This shouldn’t be happening on a Thursday night to a student of the bloody _medical_ college _._ He was down in the dumps over his marks just a few days ago and he thinks acting like this will help him bring them up?!”

“You shouldn’t be patronizing him while he isn’t awake to defend himself, Bri. Did you ever stop to think he might be acting this way _because_ he’s upset about his marks?”

Freddie’s deep brown eyes bore into Brian, and suddenly the guitarist felt he was under intense scrutiny. A wave of guilt washed over him as he considered the singer’s notion and glanced back over at the drummer in question. He immediately felt awful, remembering how last weekend Roger had been such a good sport to celebrate everyone else’s high marks on their midterm exams while his hadn’t been up to par. Brian had been able to tell that Roger was upset even though the blond had tried so hard to hide it. After a few hours of good-natured celebrating he’d drunk himself into oblivion then, too.

“Oh” was all Brian could conjure up as a response.

Freddie shouldered past Brian to retrieve a waste basket from the corner of the room, and he set it beside Roger’s bed before heading to the door. “Whatever. He’s an adult, he can do what he wants. I’m gonna get him a glass of water for the morning. Thanks for helping us out. You can go back to bed now.” The singer stalked off toward the kitchen, and his tone made his message very clear: that Brian should leave the room.

Brian checked on Roger one more time, checking his pulse and making sure he was safely turned on his side and breathing before the guitarist let out a heavy sigh and padded to the door, throwing one last glance the drummer’s way. He felt sick leaving him there and images of the blond rolling onto his back and asphyxiating on his own vomit flitted through his mind. What if that happened? What if he just stopped breathing? He’d heard the horror stories around campus, he’d read the newspapers whenever a young student died of alcohol poisoning. What if Roger was that sick?

No. Brian couldn’t let himself think that way. He had to convince himself that he would he fine. He always was. So Brian laid back down in his bed, gone cold since he’d left it to help his friends, and tried to go back to sleep. He listened as Freddie walked past, back into the room he shared with Roger, and watched the hallway light turn off. The guitarist tried to put his mind to rest.


	2. Roger.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger suffers the hangover of a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. The comments on the last chapter really made me feel good. You all made my day when you let me know that you liked my writing and I was so excited to get back to writing this chapter. Thank you so much <3
> 
> This chapter is a bit short, but I feel like it has what it needs.
> 
> TW: vomit, self-hatred, alcohol abuse.

The first thing Roger felt was that he needed to pee. The second thing he felt as he opened his eyes to sunlight filtering in through the bedroom curtains was a pounding headache that nearly blinded him. The third thing he felt as he tried to roll away from the light was the nausea. 

Panic stricken, as he knew it was coming fast, Roger threw himself in the general direction of the edge of the bed, barely making it over as whatever he’d had last night made its grand reappearance. While he suffered his karma it took him several seconds to realize that his vomit wasn’t spattering all over the floor to be cleaned up later, but that there was a conveniently placed waste basket right beneath him. He felt long fingers caressing the nape of his neck and pulling back his hair as he gagged, his eyes stinging with tears at the acrid taste in his mouth and nose. 

He remembered bits and pieces of last night. He knew he’d been bar crawling with some uni friends and Fred, but why did his body ache so much? Electrolyte deficiency didn’t usually make his knees and hands throb in pain. He could vaguely remember a snapshot memory of a dark playground and the odd sensation of flying, but everything after that was nonexistent. 

Spluttering and snorting in the least attractive way possible, he lifted his watery eyes in search of whomever had come to his aid and his blurry vision located a mass of blackish-brown fluff with a pale blob in the center. Ah yes, that would Brian. 

“Water?” Roger croaked pathetically at the blur. 

“Here you are, Roggie, you’re alright.” Brian’s soothing voice slid through the pounding of his brain like a stream through a desert and Roger gratefully gulped from the glass that was pressed to his lips.

“Bri,” he croaked after wiping his face on his own wrist, gagging, and spitting a few times more as a shiver ran up his spine. “What— why am I naked?” He ran his hand through his hair, scrunching his nose when he found it to be damp. “And my hair…?”

“Well, Fred tried to give you a bath when you got back last night and long story short, you passed out in the bathroom and we didn’t feel like getting you dressed by the time we got you in here.”

“Fair enough.” Roger yawned, stretching his stiff joints. He could have asked why Freddie tried giving him a bath but he chose to believe it was just his best friend being sweet and remembering Roger’s usual hygiene habits: He liked to be clean.

The drummer sat up a little and took a deep breath. His head was spinning so badly he didn’t dare look around the room for Freddie or his alarm clock. “Ugh. What time is it? Where’s Fred?”

“Freddie is in class. You missed your lecture.”

Roger blinked up at Brian, his friend becoming slightly clearer, and processed the words. “What? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“We did. You were still really out of it, mate.” As Brian’s face continued to clear Roger recognized the disapproval in the guitarist’s eyes. Oh no.

The nausea hit the drummer again with the force of a run-away eighteen-wheeler and he doubled over the side of the bed, retching and gagging on the water he’d just had. Shame flooded him and he felt a fresh wave of tears fill his eyes. 

Brian pulled back Roger’s hair once more and gently rubbed his back as the drummer gasped and trembled. He couldn’t hold back a sob as it ripped through his chest. The tears spilled over and once they started they couldn’t be stopped. 

“Woah Roggie.” Brian pulled the drummer into his arms as he dissolved into sobs and the guitarist held him tight. “Hey there, you’re alright.”

Roger fought hard within himself to breathe and hold back his pathetic sobbing but he just felt defeated, like it wasn’t even worth trying to reign in his emotions. Nothing really mattered anyway: He felt like a waste of space. An embarrassment. A failure. He didn’t even really know why he felt so badly about himself, but he also couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“I’m— sorry— Bri.” Roger hiccuped, wiping furiously at his eyes and nose. 

“What for?” Brian loosened his hold on the drummer so that he could lean back and see his face, searching the azure eyes intently and smoothing his hair.

“I don’t wanna talk— I really don’t know, Bri, I don’t know.” Roger sniffled, trying to avoid eye contact as he took several deep breaths to finally regain control. “I’m just sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me. Though I could have done without the 3 am wake up call.”

Roger winced, guilt piling on to his shame, but Brian continued further:

“Really though, Rog, you have got to get yourself in check. There was no reason for you to be that obliterated on a Thursday night.”

Roger could think of a few reasons. But nevertheless he put up his walls, never to let his insecurities be discovered. “I know. I guess I just lost control. I wanted to let loose and I let a little too loose.”

“Well that isn’t going to do anything for you. It might make you feel good for an hour but it won’t help anything.”

“I know, Brian.” Roger’s tone was intended to end the conversation, but in true Brian fashion, the guitarist continued:

“Freddie said you were stressed about school. Do you need to talk about it? Its only midterm, Rog, you have time to pull your grades up. I could help you study.”

Roger knew Brian meant well, but he just felt overwhelmed and patronized, and the insinuation behind the guitarist’s words beat him down even further than he already felt. He couldn’t take it. Panic swelled in his chest and he just wanted out. Without a response Roger moved to get off the bed, the whole world tipping dangerously as he stood unsteadily. The ache in his bladder couldn’t be ignored anymore and it was the perfect excuse to escape the conversation, so he headed to the door on wobbly legs, leaving Brian looking a strange combination of concerned, disappointed, and confused. 

Once in the bathroom Roger couldn’t even summon the energy to stand at the toilet, so he sat and hung his pounding head in his hands. He wished he could remember last night because the more he thought about it the more worried for himself he became. He couldn’t put any of the pieces of information and vague bits of memory he had together and it scared the hell out of him. His friends had literally had to bathe him and apparently he’d still been blacked out when they’d tried to wake him this morning. How fucked up was that? He saw the pile of his clothes muddy and pushed into the corner of the bathroom and he winced, unsure if he even wanted to know what he’d gotten in to. Ignorance was bliss sometimes, after all. 

He felt absolutely miserable: more hungover, sick, and weak than he had felt in a long time. As another wave of nausea punched him in the gut he slid off the toilet seat and onto the bath mat below, but as he hunched over the bowl he just felt stuck. There was nothing left to come up and his stomach spasmed painfully as it tried to summon something. He coughed and gagged to no avail, and yet another fresh wave of tears surfaced. 

Roger shifted uncomfortably on the floor, but couldn’t gather the energy to get up. So, shivering, he slid down to curl up on the bath mat and reached out blindly for something to cover himself, pulling an abandoned towel over himself and closing his eyes as shivers and dizziness overtook all his senses.

As he lay there on the bathroom floor he wallowed in how angry he felt. He was angry that he had embarrassed himself last night, angry that he was close to failing his dentistry course, angry that Freddie felt bad for him, and angry that Brian was smarter than him. He was angry at so many different things and people, but every single thing was rooted in himself. He was angry at himself. So, so angry, but also frustrated, sad, disappointed, and ashamed of himself. 

Roger squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his teeth and fists, subconsciously trying to channel his negative feelings into his muscles, his body nearly vibrating with all the emotions he didn’t know how to handle. He wanted to kick and scream and break things, but there just wasn’t any energy in him to do so. 

He was just tired. 

“Roggie? I brought clothes for you.” The muffled voice of Brian floated through the closed door. Dear, dear Brian, who loved Roger so fiercely and only wanted to help, but didn’t realize his offering only made the drummer feel worse. “Rog, please just tell me you’re alright.” He sounded so sad, desperate even. 

“I’m alive.” Roger croaked, trying and failing to keep his voice from wavering as he responded without an ounce of joking in him. Yeah, he was alive, but barely. None of the other words that crossed his mind seemed fit: he wasn’t alright, he didn’t feel okay, or fine, he was alive and that was it.

“Do you need anything? I could help you back to bed or get you some water—“

“No.” 

“Oh. Okay. I’ll leave your clothes right out here by the door. Just yell if you need anything.” 

Roger felt guilty for not letting Brian take care of him— the guitarist thrived on helping others even if he bitched and moaned all the while. But Roger felt so disgusted with himself that he couldn’t bear the thought of someone taking pity on him. He felt sick thinking of all his friends had done to simply get him home and in bed in one piece last night, all because he’d been too irresponsible to take care of himself. 

As he lay there, pathetically wallowing in his own self pity, he couldn't help but crave the mind-numbing sweet release of one too many. 

He needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Freddie and will have some much needed fluff. Let me know if theres anything specific you want to see!


	3. Freddie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie comes home to deal with Roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't my best. I don't know why I struggled to write it, but I kinda gave up and just did it... I'm so so sorry if it doesn't live up to expectations, BUT I think I put some cute enough banter in there to make up for it at least a little bit :)

Freddie shuffled down the sidewalk, cursing that public transportation couldn’t take him straight to his door. His head was aching and his lecture on art theory had been so dreadfully boring he’d had trouble staying awake. Though last night had been fun, he was beginning to regret how wild it had gotten as he was sore from practically dragging Roger down the street. Running on 4 hours of sleep certainly was not fun. Walking into the little two-bedroom flat, all Freddie wanted was to go lay down in his bed and sleep off his hangover, but upon seeing his flatmate’s expression, he knew he wouldn’t get his wish. 

Brian was sitting at their tiny, rickety table, his hands folded and thumbs twiddling, his brow furrowed in thought. It was clear he was worried about something and it wasn’t hard for Freddie to make connections. 

“Hello, darling. How’s Blondie doing?” Freddie tossed his bag unceremoniously onto the table and eyed the guitarist cautiously, taking note of the deep seated worry in his expression. “Is everything alright? He’s not still drunk, is he?”

“No. No, he’s not still drunk.” Brian hummed, his eyes stuck studying the wood grain of the table.

“But…?” Freddie prompted, unsure whether to be concerned or annoyed.

“He won’t come out of the bathroom.” Brian finally met Freddie’s eyes and the look in the guitarist’s hazel orbs made the singer pause.

“Okay…” he responded slowly, sliding into the seat across from Brian. “Is he just ill maybe? It’s not unusual for him after a night like that.”

“No, Fred— well I mean he is but it was different. He wouldn’t really talk to me.”

“He probably just feels shitty—“

“I don’t think so. He just shut down on me. Like… he wouldn’t even tell me to fuck off. And he cried.”

“He cried?” Freddie frowned as he considered this new information. Normally Roger was an absolute spitfire no matter how hungover he was and his default reaction to uncomfortable feelings was anger, not tears. Sure, he was known to cry when he was extremely upset as he did on rare occasion, but what was making him so upset? The last time Freddie had seen Roger really cry was when his first love broke his heart. 

Now Freddie was getting worried. He’d known last night that Roger was upset about his midterm marks but to hear that he was still feeling low triggered warning bells in the singer’s head. Something more must have been going on in his friend’s complex mind. 

Freddie slowly rose to his feet, still contemplating what he would say to the blond while he addressed Brian: “I’ll go see what I can get out of him.” 

The singer padded down the hallway and paused outside the bathroom door where a neat stack of clothes lay untouched. He let out a sad sigh before gently knocking a melodic rhythm on the door. “Roger, darling, it’s me. Can I come in?”

No response.

“Rog, please talk to me. You know I can unlock this door, but I’d rather you do it on your own terms.”

There was a light shuffling sound inside but even as Freddie waited several seconds there was no response.

“Fine.” Freddie went back into the kitchen and dug through the junk drawer for a moment before extracting a small metal pin. He held it up and Brian raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment as the singer paced back to the bathroom door. “Last chance, dear. I’m coming in.”

Freddie paused for a moment, but then proceeded with the task at hand. He carefully stuck the pin into the tiny hole in the center of the doorknob and wiggled it around until he felt the lock spring. A small push and a satisfying click, and the knob turned. The singer first gathered the stack of clothes into his arms, then entered the bathroom. He had to flip on the light and actively look for his friend, but he found him curled up between the toilet and the bathtub with the towel from last night wrapped tightly around him. It almost looked as though he were trying to hide from Freddie, and the singer couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt. Roger was his best friend. Why was he hiding?

Roger looked dreadful. His entire body trembled and tears trailed down his flushed cheeks as he avoided Freddie’s concerned gaze. He looked ashamed and Freddie had no idea why.

“Oh Roger, darling.” Freddie dropped to the floor in front of the shaking drummer, abandoning the clothes beside himself and gently placing a hand on the blond’s knobby little knee. “Come here, lovie.” He reached out and Roger leaned into his arms, allowing the singer to extract him from his nook and pull him partially into his lap. 

As Freddie tightened his grip around the drummer’s toweled shoulders, Roger dissolved into sobs for the second time that day and the sound absolutely shattered the singer’s heart into a million pieces. “Oh, sweet boy,” Freddie whimpered, at a complete loss as he smoothed a hand over the soft blond hair, “darling, I’m here, you’re alright. I’m here.”

Freddie clung to the blond as he sobbed in his arms and the singer gently rocked him side to side, petting his hair and keeping him close. The older man was confused and concerned but all he could do was comfort Roger until he could figure out what was hurting him so much. Never in his life had he seen an adult bawling like a child, and it frightened him a bit, but he was bound and determined to fix this, whatever it was. 

Freddie began to hum a melody he’d been working on for a while and he closed his eyes in concentration as he focused on calming his best friend. The vibrations from Freddie’s chest seemed to be helping, and slowly Roger’s sobs began to quell and turned to sniffles. Eventually his breathing evened out and Freddie knew he’d done his job in calming him. 

“Roger?” The singer’s voice was soft and gentle as he carefully peeled the drummer away from his own body so that he could look him up and down. 

Brilliantly blue eyes met his and Freddie felt shocked seeing the color. The red waterlines and bloodshot scleras coupled with the stormy intensity of the drummer’s emotions brought the color out bluer than the singer had ever seen them. 

“Lovie… are you alright?” He didn’t know what else to say. It was shocking to see someone as tough as Roger so completely broken down for no obvious reason. 

Roger seemed to ponder his response for a moment before taking a shuddering breath and clearing his throat. “Yeah, Fred. I’m alright.”

“Can you tell me what that was about?” Freddie remained cautious and gentle, hoping that his tone would communicate to the drummer just how badly he wanted to help him. 

“I— uh—“ Roger squirmed in Freddie’s arms and avoided eye contact at all costs. “‘M sorry, Fred,” he sniffled, “I guess I was just having a moment.”

“That was quite a moment, dear.”

Roger sighed heavily, still avoiding eye contact and reached gingerly for the abandoned stack of clothes as a distraction. He didn’t respond and instead busied himself pulling on the t-shirt and sweatpants that had been brought to him. 

“Finally,” Freddie scoffed, noticing what his mate was up to. “Thought Bri and I would be rooming with a nudist for a moment there.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” A lighthearted smile graced Roger’s lips for the first time since yesterday and he swatted at Freddie playfully, his tears nearly all dried up. 

“But could we please have a talk, dear?” The mood quickly dropped down to sombre once more. “Think you can make it back to bed?”

Roger grimaced. “Ugh, I am still really dizzy, Fred.” Now dressed haphazardly he scooted back from Freddie and leaned on the cool porcelain of the toilet, letting it soothe his feverish skin.

“Alright, then. We can stay right here.” Freddie tenderly brushed his hand through Roger’s hair, causing it to fluff up on the top, and he felt a swell of fondness in his chest for the drummer. The poor soul looked miserable but his full, flushed cheeks and big, baby blue eyes never ceased to make Freddie smile. “You okay, Blondie?” The singer hummed, cupping Roger’s warm cheek for a moment. 

“Mhmm.” The drummer hummed in return, closing his eyes as the soothing coolness of Freddie’s skin against his calmed his frayed nerves, whereas Freddie frowned, noting the heat radiating from his best friend. Had he caught something or was he just overheated from feeling so bad?

Looking at him, all Freddie wanted in the whole world was to make him feel better. Roger was his brother in every sense of the word except biological and seeing him hurting made Freddie hurt. 

“Okay. Is it alright if I call Brian in?” Freddie petted Rogers hair again, his mind reeling over how to start this conversation between all three flatmates. 

Roger nodded, keeping his eyes closed, his dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks. 

Freddie leaned out the bathroom door and called “Brimi, come here darling,” softly, as to not aggravate his and Roger’s headaches. 

Brian didn’t waste a second jumping up and jogging over to the doorway and pausing, surveying the scene before him. “Everything okay?” He panted, out of breath from jogging or from anxiety, Freddie couldn’t tell. 

“Yes dear,” the singer smiled up at him, “we just want to talk.”

“Oh, okay.” Brian moved into the tiny bathroom so that he, Freddie, and Roger sat in a circle, and he knelt slowly before settling criss-cross. “Uhm, could I start? I wanna get to the point.”

“Oh!” That threw Freddie through a loop, but taking the conversational responsibility off of him was a pleasant surprise. “Of course, dear.”

Brian took a shuddering breath. “Rog, did I say something? Or did something happen? You freaked out on me this morning and just up and left!” His voice was calm but the distress in his tone was clear. 

Freddie turned his eyes to where the blond was still draped head-first over the toilet, looking wasted and abandoned as his pretty eyes blinked, bewildered, up at his curly-haired friend. The flush to his cheeks and the tears from minutes ago clinging to his long lashes brought some kind of ethereal look to the drummer even though the setting was less than ideal. A guarded cautiousness clouded those stormy eyes as he calculated his answer and Freddie was just as curious as Brian to hear it. 

“I don’t want to make you feel bad, Bri.” Roger’s voice was small and sad, a rare occurrence from the usually bold and boisterous musician. 

“I can take it, Roggie. What did I say?”

“It wasn’t what you said, it was how I took it. It’s not your fault.”

“Talk to me, Rog.” Brian pleaded, inching closer to him with an earnest expression. 

Roger sighed and his eyed fluttered shut once more. “I’m embarrassed,” he choked out, and Freddie could sense more tears coming. Oh, that explained a lot. Roger never fared well with embarrassment.

“About what?” Brian was genuinely confused. “I said something to embarrass you?”

“Yes.” Roger whined, breathing deeply to try to keep his emotions at bay. 

Freddie scooted across the bathroom floor and pulled Roger into his arms again, cupping his head against his shoulder. He knew for everyone it was harder to hold emotions at bay when one already felt bad, and his heart went out to his blond friend. “Don’t cry, dear,” he hummed, beginning to rock once more out of instinct. 

Roger peeked his eyes open again to peer at Brian. “When you started pressing the subject of school and offering to tutor me. I suppose I just got overwhelmed. I already felt bad about it from the other night when we all went out to celebrate everyone’s success.”

Brian remained quiet, his eyes on his wringing hands as he processed this information. Freddie observed him as he kept Roger pinned to his side. He knew Brian never had bad intentions but that often he could come across as a know-it-all, especially with Freddie and Roger, with whom he was comfortable with and thus didn’t filter himself. Freddie knew first hand how Brian could really put his foot in his mouth when it came to Rog. 

“I’m sorry for avoiding you.” Roger breathed when Brian didn’t respond. “I felt inferior and stupid, still do really. I feel like a failure. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You were only trying to help.”

“Wow,” Brian breathed, running a hand over his face and shaking his head as if to clear it. “Mate, I am so sorry. You know I never meant to make you feel that way… I feel awful.”

“I know, Bri. It’s alright. I’m fine.” Roger took a shaky breath before sitting up and rubbing his fists over his eyes like a sleepy toddler. “Ugh. I didn’t mean to be so damn dramatic.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t dramatic, dear.” Freddie laughed, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Fuck off!” Roger shoved at Freddie, causing the singer to knock into the wall, but a breath of a smile played at the corner of the drummer’s lips and Freddie’s heart soared. “Now, maybe some nice, greasy, hangover pizza would settle my stomach.” Roger grabbed the sink and slowly pulled himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he tried to straighten up.

“That sounds lovely, darling.” Freddie stood and offered a hand to Brian as he curled an arm around Roger’s waist. “Whaddaya say, Brimi? You drive?”

Brian scoffed and rolled his eyes, but his toothy grin gave away his amusement. “How about delivery?”

“Even better. You call.” Freddie laughed, pulling his friends out of the tiny bathroom as Brian protested playfully.

A half-hour later the boys were all settled at the rickety kitchen table joyfully stuffing their faces.

Getting it all out into the open clearly had lifted some of the weight Roger had felt since last week, but Freddie knew the blond’s emotions toward his situation couldn’t be flipped from one conversation. Roger was extremely intelligent and felt deeply, so Freddie, who knew him better than anyone, knew he would continue feeling stressed. At least for the moment everyone in the household was aware and they were coping together, supporting Roger the best they could. Right then, sitting around the table enjoying each other’s presence, Roger’s sweet smile showed his friends that he was doing all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cheesiest line in the world to end with, but whatevs.
> 
> please let me know what you thought!


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